


Hurricane

by JumpingJackFlash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, nerd rap, punks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JumpingJackFlash/pseuds/JumpingJackFlash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Arson Clinic</i> engages in a nerdy rap battle with Lil Cal while stagehand Karkat smokes in an alley behind the venue and hates life.</p><p>Meanwhile, homeless punk John Egbert goes on a quest for a little rubber alien....</p><p><i>AND THEN THEY ALL ROCK.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    Karkat escaped out the stage door as soon as the show was well enough underway that any equipment malfunctions that were going to happen would’ve probably happened already. The soundproofed door cut off the worst of the noise, but that just meant he had to take his earplugs out so he could hear if something went wrong.

    _At least these Arson Clinic assholes don’t think they’re gangsters,_ he thought _. The crowd’s not all that rowdy. But their stage setup, holy shit. How many boxes of fucking blinkylights can two nerds play? How do you even play a blinkylight box? The ‘records’ on those turntables weren’t even records, they were some kind of digital controller. Since when is nerd rap a thing?_

    He lit a cigarette, took a long, hungry drag, and blew smoke at the orange-tinted city night. “You could be flipping burgers,” he reminded himself.

    “What?”

    Karkat took a cautious step closer to the door as someone stood up from behind the edge of the truck dock. You got some weird people back here sometimes. It was just a generic scene kid, though. Blue t-shirt, black hoodie, knit cap, tight too-short jeans showing mismatched striped socks and ‘distressed’ red hi-tops. Shoulder-length black hair — a change from the standard bangs-over-the-eyes cut, but it kind of screamed ‘I’m pretending my name is Skrillex.’ And those goddamned black-framed glasses every loser was wearing now. Probably not even prescription. Too bad; there was a pretty face under all that poser.

    “You’re not supposed to be back here,” Karkat said firmly.

    “Huh? Oh! Yes I am.” The poser fumbled a stage pass out of the neck of his hoodie and resettled it to hang outside.

    “Lemme see that.”

    The kid bounced up the steps like he was full of helium instead of bullshit. _Fuck, since when do they even make legs that long? His jeans aren’t pegged, they’re just made for humans instead of giraffes._ He grabbed the stage pass as soon as it was in range and gave it a sharp tug, making the lanky kid bend down a bit, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary.

    Unfortunately, it was legit. He released it with a snort. The tall kid never stopped smiling. Probably on E. “What were you doing back here, throwing up?” Karkat demanded.

    The kid gave a dorky laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his skinny shoulders up. “I guess I kinda lost my tolerance for crowds. I just came out to get some air.”

    Karkat pointed at where he’d been hiding and raised an eyebrow. “And everybody knows the air under loading docks is especially goddamn nice this time of year.”

    “Oh.” Another laugh. “I dropped something.”

    “Money, drugs, or your phone?”

    “No, just —”

    “Then it’s not worth crawling on the ground for.”

    The boy wasn’t listening. “— this little pink rubber alien I got out of a gumball machine in Phoenix. It’s my lucky alien. Or it was. I guess its luck ran out.”

    Karkat blinked slowly. He was starting to get the impression this wasn’t drugs talking. Mental retardation, maybe. He took another lungful of cheap tobacco, then tongued his left lip ring thoughtfully, letting the smoke drool out of his mouth. Narrowed his eyes at the way backstage-boy’s gaze was suddenly fixed on his mouth, goofy expression going slack. _Yeah, I know you want a faceful of genuine hardcore, but I don’t fuck hipsters. Hard luck for you._ “Look. Kid.”

    “John.” The boy stuck his hand out. His grin reappeared, wider than before.

    Karkat ignored it. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this fact, but when that show’s over, it’s over, and whatever radio station you won that pass from is not going to give you another one just because you wasted your brush-with-fame opportunity looking for rubber aliens in the alley.”

    “I’m here both nights. I’m a friend of the band.” John’s hand was still sticking out. He waggled the fingers. “Now you tell me your name and you shake my hand.”

    “Yeeeeah, that’s not how I remember it,” Karkat drawled. John’s grin only widened. With a huff of annoyance, Karkat slapped John’s hand, more get-that-out-of-my-face than high-five. “Karkat.”

    John tilted his head in a really infuriatingly twee way. “Karl?”

    “Karkat,” Karkat enunciated, spitting the syllables hard, but John was already distracted, looking at the stage door as if that would help him hear better.

    “Oh no, are they really doing this?” He looked as eagerly horrified as a grade school kid who has just watched some braver kid smear rubber cement on the teacher’s chair.

    He did have an expressive face, Karkat had to give him that. _Except why am I evaluating this moron’s attractiveness? Just because he blank-faced when I played with my piercing doesn’t mean he’s a prospect._ “Doing what, rapping? That’s what you came here to see, shortbus.”

    “No, listen, they’re playing Lil’ Cal.” He pulled the door handle, but only opened it a crack, enough to unseal the soundproofing. That made it easier to tell that the rhyming voice was different than it had been a few minutes ago.

    “So?”

    “He talked some moronic trash about Tav and put it up on Youtube. He’s such an asshole. I can’t believe they’re actually _playing_ it.”

    Karkat snorted. “Oh, okay, you’re on a nickname basis with Tavros Nitram, I respect you now.”

    John flapped a hand like a flustered kindergarten teacher and opened the door a bit more. Now Karkat could make out words.

    “— you shiverin in fear I gonna pop-pop-pop an drop you inna river. You singin aim high, bitch I areddy there, end a the day I still a gangsta, you a white faggot in a wheelchair.”

    The crowd erupted in boos and hooting. Shit, this could get rowdy after all. John’s eyes were sparkling with joy, though, and he bounced on the balls of his feet like a teenage girl. “Ohhh Tav you got this, don’t let Dave take it, you can do it —”

    “Move,” Karkat snapped, flicking the remains of his cigarette over his shoulder. If the crowd turned unpleasant, he’d have to help security. John scooted through the door so he could get in, and they both jogged up around side-stage to where they could see without being seen. Karkat thumbed his earplugs back in, working his jaw to settle the pressure.

    The light-and-video display was cycling awkwardly through a few simple patterns, because the light tech hadn’t been given a chance to prepare for this digression. Without their psychadelic laser bullshit, Arson Clinic looked a lot less impressive. Just two guys, two tables full of ridiculous sci-fi equipment, and a whole lot of cables. There wasn’t even a mic stand, because the duo used headset mics.

    To be fair, they weren’t necessarily trying to look like pop stars. Nitram used canes to walk, and Strider needed both hands to play his fake records. It made the stage look naked, though.

    Nitram clomped awkwardly forward to just behind the monitor amps, his fancy-ass steampunk-looking leg braces flashing in the stage lights. He’d ditched his shirt since Karkat last looked in. Damn, the dude was ripped. That huge tattoo of a stylized buffalo skull across his back was tacky as shit, though.

    “Oh my gosh,” he said in the goofy, little-boy voice that was his gimmick. “Who was spinning his beats, Vanilla Ice?”

    The crowd’s laughter didn’t quite cover Dave Strider’s contribution from behind the turntables: “Yeah, I remember that one from the Ninja Turtles movie.”

    “Cal, that is so fresh.” Nitram sounded absolutely sincere. “Dave, I think we should spin vintage too.”

    “Nah, I forgot my giant clock necklace,” Strider said blandly, pokerface unruffled, and started cooking up something slow and heavy, somehow ominous and silly at once, like a Disney villain. After a couple of bars he dropped in that stupid wobbly bass that made amps walk across the stage, so that by the end they’d be a good two feet forward of where Karkat had placed them before the show.


	2. Chapter 2

  
    John clasped his hands together and bounced again. Karkat half expected him to shout 'Oh goody!'

    When Nitram started in, his tone was so casual, so conversational, that Karkat didn't realize he was rapping until the rhymes started to line up. "Wow, Lil' Cal's a really fast talker. I'm intimidated, he intimated he might pull out a glock or just murder me barehanded, man this is awkward. I'm just gonna... take a couple slow steps backward." He did so. "Jesus, what do you say to that kind of ego trip? Uh, I went to disneyland once, uh, I like potato chips, I tip well, I don't rip my rhymes, hell half the time I'm just a big dip but it's all mine. So when I quip at a quick clip there's no need to bring up nines. Let's just go with audio ammo, if that's okay by you, bro."

    Karkat heard a quiet laugh-snort, and realized he'd made it himself. _Shut up_ , he told himself, _you hate rap_. He glanced over at John. The kid was grinning like a braindead tool, of course.

    Nitram shoved a hand through his sweaty mohawk, and went on in a more serious tone, though still far from aggressive. "It's sad when have-nots take cheap shots. I _had_ a wheelchair, but then I got -- aren't these hot? I'm a robot! And it's not like we hide -- yaknow, me and Stride -- so that's _two_ ways you envy my sweet ride."

    Strider actually cracked a tiny smile at that, and John laughed loud enough that Karkat had to slap his arm to remind him that they were, in fact, standing right next to the stage. Just because the crowd couldn't see them didn't mean it was a TV show. John shot him an apologetic look, covering his mouth with his hand, but his eyes were still squinched up with laughter.

    "You brought up race -- man, I wanna give you space to think that through but it's just too late, everybody heard you. Take a look at my face. Anishinabe represent, dude. The Red Man, you may know me from your chaw can, I _know_ you scream it from the grandstand. So let's just adjust our attitude, climb for mental altitude and discard the race card. I know it's hard, but if I can, you can." Then all the silly suddenly went out of the music, and it was just wobble bass and static. "You had your say, Cal, and I had mine. How are you? We're fucking fine. Let's do this shit again sometime."

    The subtle shading of malevolence in Nitram's voice on those last few lines was so perfectly judged, such a delicate twist after all that choirboy sincerity, that when the crowd burst into roaring applause, Karkat even gave a few grudging claps himself. Over the noise, he could hear John shouting congratulations like a goddamn cheerleader.

    Nitram glanced over and flashed teeth for a moment before returning his attention to the crowd as Strider started to morph the tune into one of their tiny handful of radio hits. Huh; maybe John _did_ know the band.

    So he could probably be trusted not to wander onto the stage. It wasn't Karkat's job to babysit backstagers anyway. He turned and headed for the door again. It wasn't until he tried to close it behind him that he realized the kid had followed him. He rolled his eyes as he pocketed his earplugs. "Why are you even here if you're not going to watch the show?"

    "I _like_ their music, I've just seen it so many times..." John shrugged apologetically.

    "Oh yeah, friend of the band. Congratufuckinglations."

    "That was so great. Tav used to be so timid, you would not even believe. Dave used to have to bully him onto the stage every single show. His first rap battle, he choked so bad -- have you seen 8 Mile? Oh man, he made B Rabbit look like Martin Luther King. He was like a kindergartener on the first day of school." He lowered his voice confidentially. " _He cried on stage._ "

    "Thank you for telling me that touching story," Karkat said dryly, getting out another cigarette. Maybe he'd get to finish this one. "I am so excited to hear about the personal lives of marginally famous musicians. It's not like I work stage crew at a busy concert venue or anything."

    Instead of being properly chastised, John laughed. "I like you."

    "I'm fucking honored. Because you're special. All ten thousand of your clone brothers are at home listening to Fall Out Boy and blogging suicide threats, but here you are getting out and experiencing nerd rap and annoying club staff who would rather smoke in peace. That's so brave. I'm getting a little choked up."

    John seemed to blank out while he processed that, though the grin remained. He looked down at himself, tugging out the bottom of the hoodie as if the answer might be printed on the hem. "Haha, I do kind of look like a scene kid, don't I? Wait, I can fix that."

    He took off his knit cap and shoved a hand through his hair, which could've used a wash. He started rummaging in his pockets.

    Sighing, Karkat turned to contemplate the narrow slice of skyline he could see above the end of the alley. _If I pretend he's not here, maybe he'll vanish. I wonder if I can talk him into going to look for his rubber alien again._ There was a part of him that kept suggesting a guy with legs that long and a face that pretty was worth putting up with just for the scenery. He ignored it.

    "Okay, all better!" John chirped.

    Karkat looked. His cigarette drooped as his mouth went slack. John had put his hair in two pigtails with pink Hello Kitty scrunchies. Karkat slowly took the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke between his teeth. "You are an idiot," he enunciated.

    "Yeah, it works for me, I'm enjoying it." He popped the hat on over the pigtails. "I tried to be cool for like, five minutes once, but Dave kicked me on the back of the knee and I fell in a puddle."

    Karkat felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He fought the smile and won. "Do you try to make friends with everyone you meet?"

    "Pretty much!" Hands in pockets, John leaned back against the wall behind the door. He gave his shoulders a little wiggle like he was getting comfy in a nice soft bed. "It's kind of my thing that I do. I'm traveling across America talking to people and just being friendly and stuff. I'm going to make a movie."

    Karkat gave him a skeptical look. "About Arson Clinic? Rockumentaries are over, toolbox."

    "No, I'm not traveling with them. I just meet up with them when our paths cross. It's just me and Casey. Casey's my van."

    "You named your van. ...You named your van Casey."

    "She's my baby! And also my house."

    "Wait, you're telling me you're homeless?"

    John shrugged slightly, cheer undiminished. "By choice! I get some money from my dad, though. He doesn't get why I'd want to go be a homeless punk for the sake of a movie, but he says if it makes me happy he's happy to help. He's a great guy."

    Karkat's irritation returned suddenly. He hadn't realized it'd been missing. "You are not a punk."

    "Oh, are you the judge of punk? Please define it for me, Your Honor." John's grin widened, and there was a teasing glint in his eyes. Which were absurdly blue, Karkat noticed with a sinking feeling.

    He moved in closer, dropping his voice menacingly. "Look at you. Road tripping on Daddy's money, hanging out with the technophiles. You put two rings in the same ear and think that's fucking counterculture."

    "At least I did it because I think it looks neat, not to piss off my parents."

    " _You little fuckstain_ \--"

    "I like your piercings," John interrupted cheerfully, gaze dropping to Karkat's snakebites again. He took his own lower lip between his teeth.

    Karkat slapped the wall next to John's head and leaned in. _Enough of this shit, you suburban asshat. I'm calling your bluff._ "Yeah, I can see that," he growled softly. "Can't take your eyes off 'em."

    John inhaled sharply, eyes jerking up to meet Karkat's. For a moment he looked a little bit scared. "Oh," he said under his breath. His bunny-in-headlights look melted into warm curiosity. "Okay." He grabbed two fistfuls of the front of Karkat's shirt and hauled him into a kiss.

    Karkat's rational mind took an abrupt vacation. Later it might squawk about how he really had been expecting John to back down, how he wasn't in the habit of making out in alleys with strangers, and whether this counted as winning the argument or not. Right now he dropped his cig, pinned John to the wall with the weight of his body, and devoured his mouth like he was starving for it. It wasn't even a decision.

    John's hands clutched at his back, bunching up his shirt. He got a leg between John's, grabbed his ass, and ground up slow. John made a vulnerable little noise, soft lips slackening for a moment, then kissed even harder.

    Heat kindled in the pit of Karkat's stomach. Roared up through him, took him over. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. This wasn't some anonymous hookup. Crush or grudge, this was personal.

    The door banged open. "Vantas! Oh dear lord."

    Karkat jerked away from John, met his dazed eyes for a moment, then turned to look into the eyes of his boss, which were dazed with a different kind of emotion. There was no music coming out of the club. Just crowd noise. Shit, how long had they been making out? It only felt like a couple minutes. "Jesus, Zahhak. One of these days you'll slam someone off the steps with that fucking door and get sued."

    "If you can spare a moment from these lewd activities," Zahhak said with distaste, "cables don't coil themselves. Excuse me, I must find some brain bleach." He yanked the door shut again.

    John released Karkat's shirt slowly, reluctantly, as if he had to command each finger individually to let go. "Sorry, did I get you in trouble?"

    "Nah, Horse isn't as bad as he looks. He's just repressed as shit. Look, uh... I gotta... I have work to do."

    John swallowed and gave a small nod. "And I have to... stand here for a while. And think unsexy thoughts."

    Karkat laughed despite himself. "You do that. If you want to meet up with the band you should wait by their bus. You'll just get in the way backstage. Somebody'll run you over with an amp."

    "Let's avoid that. Yeah." Another swallow.

    "So uh. You're here tomorrow night too, huh?"

    "Yeah. Um. You?"

    "Yeah." He wasn't scheduled, but he could swap shifts with Sol, that nerd would rather be in the audience anyway. He took another step back. "Later." _That is a door. You pull the handle. Then you walk through and go do your job so you don't get fired. Okay. I'm right on that._ He got right on that.


	3. Chapter 3

    They sent the tour bus ahead to the hotel and took John's van to IHOP. When Tavros wore a hat over his mohawk and Dave swapped his famous shades out for blue-blocking polarized lenses that just looked like regular glasses, it was amazing how rarely anyone recognized them. Not that they were huge superstars, but their viral net-following had a tendency to show up in droves within an hour if they were spotted.

    "You're gonna have to start wearing movie-star disguises too pretty soon," Dave told John as they slid into a booth. "Folks are starting to notice you."

    "No way."

    "Yes way," Tavros said. "There's a forty-five second montage video of you coming out of hotels with us. 'Who's this guy?' I mean, the general consensus is, who cares, but, well."

    "Fff." John waved that off. "Thank you, Tav, and now in sports, Arson Clinic owned the living shit out of racist, ableist, homophobic rapper Lil' Cal this evening. Correspondent Dave Strider was on the scene." He aimed an imaginary microphone in Dave's direction. "Dave, what did you think of Tavros Nitram's wordplay?"

    "John, it was incredible," Dave said in a perfect sportscaster voice, taking the cue and running with it. He gushed all over Tav's response until Tav's face was red as a strawberry.

    "That was freestyle?" John put in after a while. "But Dave knew exactly what to play."

    "We have cues," Tavros explained. "Like when I --" He made as if to push a hand through his mohawk, but stopped when he encountered a hat instead. "That means I'm gonna be serious. This means the opposite." He put his thumb and forefinger to his chin in a parody of thoughtfulness. "Like, 'now I get silly, so bust out the Loony Tunes samples'."

    "I have never sampled Loony Tunes," Dave scoffed.

    "Liar," Tav grinned. "When I thump a cane on the floor, that means bring it down for the home stretch. When I spin one on its strap, that's, bring it up, you know? Thicken it up, get intense."

    "What if you spin both canes?"

    Tav chuckled. "I only did that once."

    "That means he's choking," Dave smirked.

    " _Once_ , I did that."

    "Couldn't think of a damn thing to say, started spinning those motherfuckers like he thinks he's a little heli-Tav and he's gonna fly to Tel Aviv, do a little aerial photography. So I just dropped a house on 'em and everybody forgot he wasn't done."

    "I'd been awake thirty-six hours," Tav said, rolling his eyes.

    "Tel Aviv?" John said, puzzled.

    Dave waved vaguely. "Most of the time the shit that comes out of my mouth is as surprising to me as it is to you." He reached out and tweaked one of John's pigtails. "This is a good look for you. I like it."

    "Oh, haha, oops." John stripped the scrunchies out. "I forgot I still had those."

    "No -- aw, man. I _liked_ that look."

    "I was just clowning around to impress some dude. I was acting like a third grader. You would've laughed."

    One of Dave's pale brows arched. "Some _dude_? John, explain to me why your face is bright red suddenly. _Explain_ ," he added sharply as John squirmed. "You can't hide anything from me. I've known you _how_ long? Come on."

    John pressed his lips firmly together, as if that could keep the truth in, but it only made him remember how those steel rings had felt to his tongue. "I made out with a guy," he blurted.

    Dave did not look impressed. "Christ, not this again. Are you seriously panicking over this? Your bi-curious bullshit was old six years ago. Just do me a favor and don't wait until this one falls for you before you tell him you don't like him 'that way', bro."

    "Dave," Tavros murmured. "Harsh."

    John hung his head. "You _know_ I'm sorry about that, Dave."

    "Hey, okay," Dave relented, elbowing him gently in the side. "No grudges here. If you hadn't broken my little teenage heart, we might've ended up in some alternate timeline where I never got with Tav, Hitler won and dinosaurs never went extinct. I'm just saying. Don't forget you're maybe not the only one who's freaking out."

    "I _hope_ I'm not the only one!"

    "Oh, that's nice. You want this dude to be having no-homo palpitations too?"

    "No, no!" John flapped his hands, impatient with his inability to explain. "No no-homo. I mean yes homo. I mean. You guys. You guys this is going to sound completely moronic but I think I'm in love."

    Dave and Tav exchanged a look. Then they both turned to him with identical high-eyebrow looks of disbelief.

    "I know, I know, I know it's stupid, I only talked to him for like half an hour but oh my God you guys."

    Dave slowly keeled over forward and bonked his head on the table. Tavros reached across to pat John's hand. "Oh sweetie," Tavros said. "Did he even give you his number?"

    "Well, no, but..."

    Dave rolled his head back and forth.

    "He works at the place! The thing. Club. Where you played. He's a stagehand. His name's uh..." John paused. "Not Karl."

    Dave thumped his forehead into the table one more time.

    "He told me his name and I thought he said Karl and he corrected me but I can't remember the correction, I feel so stupid, God, how can I ask him now?"

    "I don't know," Dave drawled, voice muffled, "how can you? You realize he might not even be working tomorrow night."

    "He said he will! You guys, _please_." He gripped the edge of the table and gave Tav puppy eyes. When Dave lifted his head, John puppy-eyed him too. "This isn't some random ordinary thing that happens to everybody and you forget about it. You'd get it if you met him. He's going to be there tomorrow night and I'm going to ask him out for dating me for real and he's going to say yes, you didn't see how he looked when he had to go back inside. He's going to say yes."

    Dave was staring at him in horror by the end of this. "Holy shit, John. You're serious."

    "Yes!"

    "You weren't even like this when you asked Vriska Serket to junior prom. You've regressed to like... _twelve_."

    " _I know_!"

    "Nnnng, not the big watery eyes, jeeeez..." Dave slumped back against the booth with a defeated sigh. "Fine. Anything you need, John. As usual. Oh hell," he huffed as John grabbed him in a bearhug. "John. Jesus. The cool's internal, it's not gonna rub off on you like fucking talcum powder."

    Laughing his relief, John let go.

    "You need a shower and laundry, I assume," Tavros said. "I don't suppose there's uh, any way we could talk you into doing something about your hair?"

    John grabbed his hair as if they were going to steal it. "No. No stupid haircuts that look good for a week and then they make me look like Donny Osmond if I don't get them maintained by a trained professional. That's such a waste of time and money. No, the thing I most need is. Well." He found the urge to cover his face. He knew it had to be blotchy by now with all the blushing he was doing. "Education."

    "Uhhhh," Tav said.

    "Riiiight," Dave said.

    "You said anything I need. I need to know how to have sex with a dude."

    Dave facepalmed. "John, think about this. Are you sure you want to have your first guysex with some sweaty gorilla whose job description is 'push the dolly'?"

    John's brows drew down. It wasn't often he got angry, but he felt the first stirrings of it now. "Dave, you don't know him, and you're not listening to me. I did _talk_ to him, you know. He's intelligent. He's funny. He's sarcastic. He's defensive, a little mean, but it's a thin shell and there's a gentle person underneath. He comes up to about my eyebrows, he's got black hair like a patch of crabgrass, I thought he was wearing eyeliner but it turned out to be the most incredible eyelashes on the goddamn planet. He's got bead-ring snakebites on his lower lip, two barbells in his right eyebrow, and blackwork sleeves of underwater scenes on both arms. He's got this tense energy, this, this _electricity_ in him that I've never ever seen in a girl and I _will_ get closer to that whether you help me or not."

    Tavros and Dave shared another look. Tav got up. Dave took John's hand and gave it a squeeze, while Tav slid in on his other side and put an arm around him. "It's your heart, bro," Dave said, scowling. " You do what you want with it. I guess you gotta break it sometime."

    "You never know, maybe it'll work out," Tav said. "Even if it doesn't..."

    "Then my movie can be a dramedy," John grinned wryly.

    "That sounds like a type of camel," Dave said.


	4. Chapter 4

Karkat paused at the end of the alley, taking the opportunity to watch unseen for a few moments, since John hadn't spotted him yet. What was that ridiculous kid even doing? He was sitting crosslegged on the landing outside the stage door, and he appeared to be taking pictures of his crotch. He stopped to look at his camera and push a few buttons, turned a little more toward the light, and tugged at his jeans cuff before resuming. Okay, so he was taking pictures of his _socks_. That was only slightly less insane.

    He was wearing pretty much the same thing as yesterday, but in different colors. The hoodie was purple, the shirt was yellow, the jeans were faded gray instead of faded blue. Tonight's knit cap was orange with a pumpkin face on it.

    How did this dumbass even get the idea he could go around calling himself punk? He dressed like a college kid on laundry day. He had no tattoos or piercings that Karkat could see -- ears didn't count -- and his hair was mainstream-acceptable except to the most insular of pearl-clutchers. There was nothing anti-culture about the kid whatsoever.

    Well, unless you counted living in a van. The movie road-trip thing was not a new idea, but Karkat had a feeling John didn't think it was. He was doing it because he wanted to. And he was up-front about the parental assist; Karkat guessed there wasn't anything particularly consumerist about having a supportive dad. As for the kitchy thrift-store clothes, Karkat was starting to suspect John wasn't wearing them for ironic hipster reasons. But probably not financial reasons. Maybe just weirdo reasons.

    John put the camera away, took out a pen, and started drawing on his jeans.

    _Why am I still standing here staring?_ Karkat challenged himself, but he didn't move. The dim, yellow alley light gilded John's profile, and there was no telling when he'd see something that beautiful again. He'd long ago sworn off pretty guys -- they knew they were hot and it made them act like assholes even if they tried not to -- but somehow that didn't apply to this one.

    He was just such a _doofus_.

    It was... fucking adorable, frankly.

    John looked up, spotted him, cracked a brilliant smile, and before Karkat knew it John had taken his picture.

    "Hey!" He stomped forward, scowling. "I didn't say you could do that."

    "No takebacks," John grinned, stuffing the camera in his hoodie pocket. "I won't put it on the internet or anything, I swear. I'm just taking visual notes."

    "Yeah, I saw you recording your socks for posterity. History is lucky you're so aware of important events."

    John laughed. There was a shy note in it that hadn't been there yesterday. "My socks _are_ pretty crucial, but I was recording my pants. Or rather, the drawing I drew thereupon."

    "Thereupon," Karkat echoed. He found he wasn't doing a great job of not smiling. He sat down beside John and leaned around, trying to see the drawing. Stick figures, dragons, and... footballs? Whales? He didn't miss the way John's breath caught when he came closer. "It belongs in the fucking Louvre," he said dryly. "What the hell is it?"

    "It's the alternate timeline where I didn't break Dave's heart, and he didn't get with Tav, Hitler won, and dinosaurs rule the earth."

    Karkat leaned back and gave him a skeptical eyebrow. "You broke Dave Strider's heart."

    "He said it, not me," John shrugged sheepishly. "I mean, not that I'm saying it didn't happen. The heart, not the dinosaurs. I was fifteen, or sixteen, something like that, I had my head up my ass. By the time I figured out what I was putting him through, we were kind of almost not friends anymore for a while. But then he hooked up with Tavros and everything was peaches and pie forever after. And I let him give me a black eye. I think that made him feel better more than he'll admit." He trailed off as if he'd finally realized he was babbling, and clamped his lower lip with his teeth to stop himself from continuing. He had a bit of an overbite. And really sexy lips.

    "Is that a warning?" Karkat said. His voice sounded softer and rougher than he meant it to. "Are you hinting you're going to do the same to me?"

    John's blue eyes widened, and he shook his head emphatically. "I won't. No. That was a wake-up call. I don't do denial anymore. Reality is what it is, and I accept it. I am totally fine with the fact that I really like you. A lot already."

    "Yeah?" _You can't just accept reality like it's a birthday present. Reality is out to fuck you over. You have to fight or you'll get screwed._ His voice wasn't cooperating. _Someone should be looking out for you. You shouldn't be out in the big bad world alone. Some cynical asshole like me is going to take advantage of you and leave you crying._ "You're cute. A lunatic, but cute."

    "You're sweet under all that sarcasm," John returned happily. Then it was like his not-kissing-people timer ran out and he had to plant one on somebody or he'd get penalized, because he twisted and slung a leg over Karkat's knee, threw his arms around Karkat's neck, and initiated the most methodical, purposeful makeout Karkat had ever experienced.

    Bemused, Karkat wasn't sure whether to laugh or be turned on as John systematically tried different combinations of lips, teeth, and tongue. It obviously wasn't his first time making out or anything, everything he did was pretty much okay, he was just so _scientific_ about it. Trying to figure out what Karkat liked, checking boxes on a mental list. It was cute, but not all that sexy. Karkat decided to show him how it was done. He cradled the back of John's neck, tilted his head a little further, and licked the roof of John's mouth. John gave a little whimper and shuddered all over.

    Then he did it back, and suddenly science time was over. He was pulling Karkat's hair, tongue-fucking his mouth, nails digging into his back, and Karkat's head was spinning. When John bit his lip hard enough to hurt, Karkat found himself moaning, back arching in surrender. _Where the hell did that come from?_ John's abrupt transformation from harmless hippie dork into hungry predator was the hottest thing Karkat had ever experienced. A sudden storm out of a clear blue sky.

    When John stopped kissing him, it took Karkat a few seconds to pry his eyes open and remember to breathe. "Why'd you stop?" he demanded.

    John's eyes were dark and his breath was choppy. "Because. Because this is technically a public place."

    "Oh. Yeah. Shit." Karkat swallowed. He pushed gently at John's chest, and John got the message and disentangled himself.

    They sat there awkwardly for a few minutes. Karkat spent the time thinking the most boner-calming thoughts he could manage. He was pretty sure John did too. Eventually John said, "I have a confession to make."

    Karkat's heart dropped like a bomb. "Oh shit." He should've known this was going to go sour. "You already have a boyfriend."

    "What? No."

    "No, of course. A girlfriend. This is so typical."

    "No! Hey, stop that." John grabbed his wrist.

    "You have to leave town in the morning."

    " _No_ , I can stay wherever I want as long as I want, stop jumping to conclusions. Look at me." John shook his wrist until he looked up. Clear blue sincerity. Sympathy, wry glint of humor. It hurt Karkat's chest like a knife. "I was just going to confess -- when you corrected me on your name I didn't hear you very well. So all I know is not-Karl."

    Karkat blinked at him half a dozen times.

    Smiling crookedly, John lifted Karkat's hand and playfully bit the pad of his thumb, then kissed his palm. "I would like to ask you out for real, but that's going to be sort of awkward if I get your name wrong. That's all."

    "Karkat," Karkat said.

    A bright grin broke across John's face. "Beep beep meow!"

    Karkat rolled his eyes and spelled it for him.

    "Beep," John repeated. He kissed Karkat's thumb knuckle. "Karkat, will you go out with me? And date and hang out and meet my friends and be my boyfriend? I've never had a boyfriend before, only girlfriends, so I might be laughably bad at it sometimes, but I take criticism well and I _really_ like you. Uh. So. Yeah?"

    Karkat swallowed. He felt like he should refuse on principle, just because -- because who even did that anymore? Who even asked that shit out loud after the age of sixteen? But it was sweet. So sweet. And if he said no, John really would leave town tomorrow, drive away in his Casey bus and never be seen again. He couldn't let that happen. So. "Yeah, let's do that."

    "Awesome," John beamed, and leaned in to kiss him. At first it was just sealing the deal, but within a couple minutes it started getting heavy again and they had to pull apart.

    "We should talk about something else," Karkat suggested. "Or else we're going to accidentally fuck."

    John laughed. "Okay, lemme look at your tats." He tugged at Karkat's arm to straighten it. Karkat stuck the other one out as well. John studied them as if genuinely fascinated. "Oh, cool. I didn't realize they were _prehistoric_ underwater scenes. There's a trilobite, and one of those ice-cream-cone squids --"

    "Cambrian on that arm, Devonian on this one. See, we've got the first turtles over here, and this little guy's trying out this walking-on-land thing everybody's talking about." He shoved up his sleeve so John could see the lungfish on his shoulder.

    "That is unbelieveably fucking cool," John grinned. "You are unbelievably fucking cool. Do you want to be a paleontologist or something?"

    Karkat scowled and pulled his sleeve back down. "I wanted to study fossil genetics, but the money wasn't there. End of story, don't pry," he added warningly.

    "I decided not to go to film school," John said, and somehow he made it sound like reassurance. "Because I saw how people go in loving movies so much, but they come out hating almost all of them. So I'm just going to learn by doing."

    "Does that even work for movies?"

    John nudged him with an elbow. "DIY ethic, Your Honor. The defendant pursues personal goals without regard to established authority. And yes, if you have a half-decent computer and camera, it does."

    "Which your daddy bought you."

    "Yes, because my dad is awesome. If he'd given me the van, you'd accept _that_ as a present from someone who likes my project. The computer cost about the same as the van did. Don't be a Luddite."

    Karkat's lips quirked, and this time he didn't even try not to smile. "Objection sustained. However! I have yet to hear an explanation for the thrift-store kitch and hipster glasses."

    "Used clothes are softer. I'm nearsighted. Any further questions?"

    "Yes. Do _you_ have any tattoos?"

    "Just one." John twisted away, bent over, and pulled his shirt and hoodie up.

    It took a lot of scrunching to expose the tat, because it was high on his back. It wasn't easy to see; the ink was light blue, barely darker than his creamy skin. It ran from shoulderblade to shoulderblade and across the top of his shoulders: a flock of sparrows, silhouetted against sketchy clouds.

    With hesitant fingertips, Karkat touched the bird at the point of the flock. He traced the sinuous shape described by what had to be a hundred tiny figures. "It's amazing," he whispered. He trailed his fingers down John's spine. John tugged his clothes down again and turned to smile at him, shy and proud. There was no need to ask what the tattoo meant. It was freedom and hope, written in a language anyone on earth could understand.

    "How long after the show do you have to stay?" John said.

    "I'm not actually working tonight," Karkat admitted, hunching slightly in embarrassment. "I tried to switch shifts with a friend of mine but he decided to be a stubborn fucker. So I guess I'm just. Fucking. Hanging around. Like a complete obvious dipshit."

    "I see no dipshittery here," John assured him. "You wanna go out for pancakes with Dave and Tav after the show? Please come. They said if I don't introduce you they'll write a song about what I did at senior prom, and no one wants that."

    Karkat threw him a sideways grin. "That depends. What did you do?"

    "Um. Let's just say it was not my _intention_ to get fucked up on NyQuil. I honestly did have a cold. And Dave's sister is a very pretty girl whom I'm sure everyone felt honored to see more of, and it's not like I'm the one who sewed her dress, that seam really could have been better secured, aaaaand I'm just gonna stop there."

    By that point Karkat was curled forward with his head on his knees, laughing so hard his eyes were watering.

    John patted Karkat's back, failing to stifle giggles of his own. "You see how traumatizing it would be for the world if they dredged that back up. Just say yes."

    Karkat was wheezing too hard to talk, so he punched John twice in the leg. By which he meant to say, 'if your nerd-rapper friends are as ridiculous as you are, how can I pass up a chance to meet them?' Miraculously, John seemed to understand perfectly.


	5. Chapter 5

  
    Being near famous people was nothing new, of course. Having conversations with them was less common, but a surprising number of the biggest stars were happy to chat with the stagehands before a show, and the days when Karkat couldn't have a civil conversation with a stranger were long past.

    Sitting across from famous people in an IHOP and listening to them hashing out their schedule for the next week, though, was a new experience. Kind of educational.

    "Vibe." Tavros tapped his pen twice, then made a checkmark. "Gotta do it."

    "Hey, hey, you can't just decide on your own," Dave said, grabbing for the pen.

    Tavros held it absently out of his reach. "It's Vibe, Dave. Do you seriously want to tell Vibe 'no interview'?"

    "No. I just want you to wait for me to say my bit. Otherwise it throws me off for hours."

    Tavros looked to him with a raised eyebrow.

    Dave nodded at the paper. "Gotta do it."

    Tavros made an exaggerated checkmark-shaped motion over the printout without touching it. "Spin."

    "Duh."

    "XXL."

    "Eh, okay, sure."

    "Rap-up."

    "What? No, fuck those sexist fucks, there's a half naked chick on every other cover. Why do they even want to talk to us?"

    "Rap Pages."

    "Okay now seriously, what is happening. All we did was curbstomp Lil' Cal, _John_ could do that."

    "I could, you know," John put in innocently.

    Tavros said, "Dave, I just want to, uh, get this done, okay? Because it's really kind of, to tell the truth, boring, and you know how I hate interviews. When was the last time we had an interviewer talk more about the music, instead of, my disability, or our relationship?"

    Dave aimed a phantom mic and put on a smarmy voice. "Tell us, Mister Nitram, how does it feel to be a white faggot in a wheelchair?"

    "I already, uh, did, I think, Friday night."

    "Tell us about Dave Strider. Is sex with an albino different from sex with Eminem's mom?"

    "Little known fact, Dave _is_ , actually, Eminem's mom. And can we take this opportunity to ask Insane Clown Posse, please, stop calling, it's over, move on."

    Karkat clapped a hand over his mouth, but too late to stop a hoot of laughter from escaping. They all looked at him. Normally, having a bunch of people turn to stare at him all at once was close to the top of his rage list, but John was laughing too, and the famously expressionless Dave had a huge grin on his face.

    "Thought you were mad at us, man," Dave said as the grin faded into something just barely on the smile side of blank.

    "That's just my face," Karkat said, which made John start to slide down the booth from how much he was laughing. "It stuck that way."

    "Yeah, I heard that can happen. I'm not taking any chances."

    "Pfweee --!" John slid onto the floor.

    Karkat bent to look under the table. "Jesus. There's puréed french fries and shit down there, don't go down there." John waved an arm at him; Karkat grabbed it and hauled him back up.

    "Karkat," Dave said, getting up. "You smoke, right? Join me."

    John gave a theatrical scowl. "Don't be a jerk to him, Dave."

    "Relax. He's cool by me. I'm just being social."

    Karkat didn't believe that for a moment, but he gave his best impression of a pleasant nod and followed Dave outside.

    There was an autumnal edge on the night air. Karkat hunched his shoulders and gave a shudder as he got out a cigarette. He'd already lit it before he noticed Dave was holding out a lighter. Dave shrugged and put it away.

    "All right," Karkat said. "Let's have it."

    Shaking his head slightly, Dave shoved his hands in his pockets. "Nah, that's not what I'm doing. You're expecting the whole -- hurt my best friend I rip your heart out thing. Right?"

    "That or asking me a bunch of personal questions and judging me, yeah."

    "John's a big boy. We don't give him enough credit. He says you're okay, you're okay."

    "Fine." Which didn't explain what Dave wanted, but Karkat refused to ask again.

    "What I'm doing here is, I'm giving you a chance to ask me stuff. Because he can be confusing. And you look nervous as fuck."

    "The hell I do."

    "You still think we can somehow take him away. Make this not happen for you."

    "Fuck you," Karkat snapped. "No. It's his fucking decision, not yours."

    "Then what are you tweaking about?"

    "I'm not fucking tweaking!"

    Dave just looked at him. Those red eyes were a little disturbing, and he clearly knew how to use that. Much as Karkat tried not to be intimidated, he felt like Dave could see right through him.

    Before he quite knew what he was doing, Karkat heard himself say, "What the hell is he expecting?"

    The challenge faded from Dave's look. "Beats me, man. But I know what he's hoping for. Did he tell you you're the first guy he's ever wanted to date?"

    Karkat gave a tight nod. "He said he doesn't do denial anymore."

    "Yeah, well, I have my theory about why he refused to admit he's bi for so long. He's a romantic and he loves cheesy movies. To him, a happy ending involves a wedding. Boquet flies, credits roll. No epilogue about the state changing the law and nullifying the marriage the next week. Relax, he's not going to expect you to make an honest woman out of him in the morning. I'm just saying, he doesn't go into things expecting them to be temporary. And he doesn't do anything halfway."

    Karkat studied the pavement. He took a drag on his smoke, but his throat was almost too tight to inhale. "Ah."

    "So if you're the type who likes to visit all the flowers or whatever, you probably wanna tell him that up front."

    Karkat gave a jerky headshake.

    After an expectant pause, Dave said quietly, "You're not that type."

    Another slight headshake.

    "You're the version of John that got kicked around the block a few times and gave up on happy endings."

    Karkat threw him a sideways glare, lip lifting warningly.

    "Relax, Romeo. He's retarded for you already. If you don't shoot yourself in the foot you might end up happy, who knows." Dave rocked back on his heels and looked up at the hazy city sky. "Man, it's cold as fuck out here, I'm going in." He spun on his heel and ducked back inside the restaurant.

    Karkat stood there smoking and watching cold-stunned moths crawl around on the light beside the door, aware that he should be mulling things over but unable to gather his thoughts. All he could hold in his mind was the flavor of memory -- not even the memories themselves, just the taste they left in his mouth. All the disappointments that had sanded the shine off him. All the times he'd slapped on another coat of anger over the hurt, until the anger seeped down to the core and he couldn't tell pain from rage anymore. All the people he'd never really forgiven. Even the ones he loved, even his friends. Like Sol juggling multiple lovers and laughing about how easy it was. Like that stoned-ass bitch Makara wandering into his bed by mistake and deciding to stay for a little with-benefits, then never mentioning it again.

    He was never going to be that guy. He was never going to let John look at him the way he'd looked at them. He didn't need some smug red-eyed fuck to warn him. He'd already made that decision. He just... hadn't noticed himself making it.

    The door swung open, and John strode out, looking irritated. "Are you okay? If Dave was an asshole to you I'm going to punch him in the ear."

    The bitter taste of memory vanished. It was like all the lights suddenly came back on. "No, it wasn't like that," he said, reaching for John's hand, smiling a little at how unselfconsciously John gave it to him. "He basically just told me you like me."

    "Bull~shit," John singsonged, stepping in closer to put his other hand on Karkat's waist. "Okay, I won't punch him, but you have to tell the truth."

    Karkat flicked his cigarette away. He was just never going to get to finish one when John was around, it was time to accept that. He reached up, cupped John's face, stroked his thumb along John's cheekbone. It was amazing how unguarded John's eyes were. "No, really. He told me you're a romantic, and you're not playing. So if I'm playing I need to fess up. But I'm not, okay? I'm not fucking playing, John."

    "I know that," John smiled.

    Their foreheads bumped gently together. Karkat hardly recognized his voice, it was so soft. "No you don't. I might be fronting."

    "You're not," John said with absolute confidence.

    Karkat kissed him slowly, the way he always wanted to kiss someone. The way you couldn't kiss a stranger. John enfolded him, leaned into it. Pulled slowly back with two, three, four little after-kisses. Breathless.

    "You want to see my van?" John whispered.

    Speechless, Karkat just nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

  
    John was already drawing the curtain between the cab and the cargo space when he realized what a silly thing he'd said. 'Do you want to see my van' -- when Karkat had already ridden in it on the way to the restaurant. But Karkat had known what he meant, so there was no point worrying about it now.

    Karkat cleared his throat."You bring a lot of girls back here?"

    John switched on the tiny battery-powered reading light he used because it didn't cast shadows on the curtains. It revealed Karkat kneeling awkwardly beside the edge of John's futon. _Lucky I didn't roll that up this morning_ , he thought dazedly. He made a supreme effort to get his mind to stop distracting him with trivia. This was _important_ , dammit.

    "Only once," he said. "She got really offended that I assumed we were going to have sex. Oh. Shit. Should I not be drawing the curtains? Because if you just wanted to talk --"

    All the awkward went out of Karkat's eyes, chased out by that half-smiling intensity that took John's breath away. "If I don't get to make love to you pretty soon, John, I'm going to explode and die. That'd make a great ending for your movie. But no pressure."

    John laughed nervously, moving to sit on the futon. He struggled to get his shoes off without looking away from Karkat's eyes. They were so dark, but in the bright lights of the restaurant they'd had a rusty gleam, almost red. Not pinkish red like Dave's, but deep brown-red like Earl Grey tea. _I hope my feet don't smell. Clean socks, at least._

    "What are you thinking?" Karkat shifted so he could unlace his boots. "You look like your brain's going a mile a minute."

    "It's trying to distract me," John confessed. "I'm nervous, and I've never done this before. Dave gave me too much advice. I mean, I _asked_ for it, but -- I can't remember _anything_ now. And there's a part of me that wants to pretend this isn't happening so I can tell myself I'm straight and that's _retarded_ and I don't _do_ that, I'm _not_ going to do that to you, but it's just happening on its owmf!" It was a relief when Karkat shut him up by kissing him. When they parted, he was able to keep the babble behind his teeth.

    "Stop thinking you have to do everything right," Karkat said softly, pushing spread fingers into his hair so his hat fell off. "I'm already impressed."

    "Really?" John felt his smile start to turn from nervous to pleased.

    "You're not the only one who had to figure your shit out on the fly, John. You're doing a better job than I did." Karkat brushed his fumbling hands aside and took his socks off for him. "I've never had a boyfriend like you. Sweet like you. I'm not going to fuck this up. I'm sure as hell not going to fucking judge you. Okay? So." Karkat looked up to his face again. "So that part of you that's trying to like... talk about the weather or whatever... I'm pretty sure the part of you that tongue-fucked fifty IQ points off me a few hours ago is capable of shutting it up."

    For a moment, John was fighting giggles. Because. Who actually _says_ that? But it was like Karkat had summoned that part of him by naming it. That coiling heat in his belly, the tension that made his hands feel strong and his teeth crave flesh. He was capable of kissing Karkat stupid. He had that power.

    Karkat curled forward and pulled his shirt off. When he straightened up, the light outlined muscle built by manual labor, steel rings in his nipples, a line of dark hair running from navel to fly. Karkat reached for John's glasses. John caught that hand and surged forward to press Karkat to the futon. Karkat's breath hitched, his eyes widened, his stomach hollowed.

    _Yes_. The babble in John's head had ended. Uncertainty was for people who didn't have this raw gorgeousness pinned to a bed. "Yes," he breathed. Then, for good measure, "Fuck yes."

    He plucked his glasses off and dropped them -- somewhere, who cared -- as he fell on Karkat like a breaking wave. Karkat groaned into the kiss. His hands shoved frantically at John's shirt and hoodie. John sat up to whip them both off together, then poured himself back into kissing. Sucked Karkat's tongue into his mouth, ground against Karkat's hip, not even trying to silence the needy noises he was making.

    He used a fistful of Karkat's hair to pull his head back so he could bite him under the ear. Karkat gave a growling moan. His nails dug into John's back. John left a line of bitemarks down his neck, across his shoulder, shifted down to suck at one of those nipple rings and tug it with his teeth.

    " _God_ ," Karkat gasped, squirming under him. "Gotta get my pants off, shit --" He yanked at his fly impatiently. "Ow, _ow_."

    John rolled aside to shimmy his jeans and underwear off. Turned back to find Karkat with his thumbs under the waistband of his own underwear, and grabbed his hands to stop him. Red boxer briefs, a damp spot growing at the peak of the tent he was pitching. John just took in the sight for a moment, wondering distantly if the babbling coward in the back of his head was going to start up again. After all, he was staring at another guy's erection and licking his lips, which wasn't something he generally pictured himself doing.

    Except that it wasn't just 'another guy', it was Karkat, watching him with wide dark eyes, body tense, breath harsh and shallow. John curled down and mouthed that dampness, huffing hot breath across it.

    Karkat's back arched, and he let out the most unbelievable sound, a whimper chopped in half by a caught breath. It made John's cock jump, so that he knew if he'd been a few years younger he would've come right then and there. He ran his spread hands up Karkat's sides, letting Karkat take his shorts the rest of the way off.

    "John, don't tease, I'm gonna lose it," Karkat begged. "I'm just too -- ohmygod." His voice dropped to a rough growl as John surged up to face him, so their dicks slid against each other's stomachs.

    More kisses, hungry, urgent, bodies twined together and writhing, fingers clutching, scratching. At first John thought he was going to come every time Karkat's hips rolled. Gradually, though, the first shock of amazement wore off and he was able to enjoy things a little more clearly. He wanted to know what Karkat liked best. He knew Karkat was working on the same puzzle. John made sure to let him know when he got something especially right.

    No girl had ever grabbed his ass with both hands and growled "Jesus, you're so fucking _hot_ " in his ear. He hadn't known he liked that, but holy shit, he liked it. And the slight roughness of Karkat's face against his cheek, the size and strength of those hands, the depth of that voice -- those were fucking amazing.

    Among the flood of advice Dave had given him had been things like _don't try to do anal the first time, it's not like that's the ultimate home run, there's lots of other ways to get off._ But he wasn't even thinking about doing things right anymore, or being smart or sensible about this.

    He wanted _all the Karkat, right now_. Period.

    "Can we fuck," he gasped, drawing back just far enough to see that Karkat's eyes were as lust-glazed as his own. "Can I fuck you. Or."

    " _Yes_ oh my God," Karkat breathed, cutting John off before he could offer to do it the other way if Karkat would rather, totally contrary to another piece of forgotten advice. "Do you have supplies because I'm a stupid pessimist and didn't bring anything --"

    "Yeah. Yeah, I." John lost interest in talking; another kiss was absolutely necessary, and then he had to fetch the condoms and lube he'd stashed in here because _he_ was an optimist.

    "You don't have to uh --" Karkat gulped, half sitting up to watch him fumble with the stuff. "All that stuff about fingers and stretching your friends probably told you? Fuck that shit. Just use a lot of lube and go slow."

    John stared at him in admiring horror. "Are you serious?"

    "So fucking serious. Jesus Christ, hurry the fuck up, John. The sooner you get started the sooner you can pound me through the chassis and into the parking lot." He bent his knees up and spread them apart, his posture an urgent demand.

    All John could say to that was "Nngh."

    The nervous part of him was surprised he didn't lose his erection at the sight of an asshole. All the rest of him was on fire and shaking at the hunger written on every line of Karkat's delicious body. He wanted to claim that gorgeousness for himself, own it, own the hollows of Karkat's thighs and the bands of muscle that wrapped just above his hips and the prominent tendons in the backs of his hands, everything masculine and fearless about him. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he rolled the condom on and made a mess with the lube.

    At the first push, Karkat's fingers dug into the futon and his breath fluttered. "Wait," he commanded. They paused for a long moment, both trembling, both struggling to keep still. John couldn't help whimpering at the tightness. It almost hurt. But at last it eased, and Karkat took a deeper breath. "Okay," he said hoarsely.

    It seemed to take a year. He moved when Karkat said move, waited when he said wait. When at last he was as deep as he could go, it felt like the end of a long journey. He kissed Karkat to celebrate arriving, and Karkat moaned against his lips, digging both hands into his hair.

    "Can I move?" John begged.

    "Yes. Fuck. Yes, fucking move, I'm not a --"

    He never heard what Karkat wasn't a, because he drew back and shoved in hard, and Karkat's voice choked off. John did it again, and again, watching Karkat's face, amazed. Those eyes wide and locked onto his, those lips, despite their armor of steel rings, parted and trembling, all defenses gone and walls torn down.

    He laced his fingers with Karkat's, pinning his hands above his head, and sped up. He could feel Karkat tightening around him, it was the most incredible thing, it made his head spin, and was that really his own voice calling Karkat's name, gasping _I love you_ and _yes_ and _you're beautiful you're so fucking beautiful --_

    "Yes don't stop," Karkat growled, neck arching, spine curving, heels digging into the small of John's back. "Don't you fucking dare stop ohgod John more. More yes. Fuck yes --" His body went rigid.

    Wet heat painted a streak up John's chest, and then another, and somewhere in there a few drops hit John's lips and John's world exploded.

    "Damn," someone said eventually. John had to think about it for a little while to be sure it wasn't him. Karkat slapped him weakly on the hip. "Leg cramp. Get off."

    Still in a daze, John dealt with the condom, found the tissues, began unfolding them and placing them in a nice neat line down the middle of Karkat's chest. Karkat, one arm crooked behind his head and the other hand playing absently with John's hair, watched curiously until the tissue pavement reached his pubes.

    "You're weird as shit, John. You know that, right?"

    "Mhm." John used a less tidy wad to wipe his own chest.

    "There's some on your chin."

    "Seriously? Wow."

    When they were as cleaned up as they could get without a shower, John settled in against Karkat's side, trying not to look self-conscious about it. Trying not to feel weird. Karkat curled an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

    "Shut up, dumbass," Karkat said fondly, and prodded him between the eyes with a fingertip.

    "I didn't say anything."

    "I can hear you thinking. 'What if, what if, what now.' Shut up, you were amazing, and I'm fucking crazy about you, and no you didn't hurt me. I mean yeah I'm sore, but not _that_ sore, and I don't have to work until Wednesday. That's better," he added as John broke out grinning.

    "Awesome," John said.

    "Yes," Karkat said with an answering smile. "Yes, I am."

    "You have a bunch of huge bite marks on your neck, by the way. One of them's pretty high up, I don't think even a scarf would hide it. Sorry."

    "I do not even fucking care."

* * *

    "Holy shit, somebody call FEMA," Dave drawled, coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. "We're gonna need some emergency aid here. Hurricane John scored a direct hit on Karkat City. This shit is brutal, there are places our news cameras can't even go."

    Karkat couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he and John slid into the booth together, arms around each other's waists. He didn't even try to hide his wince. The way it made Tavros double-take and start blushing was worth the embarrassment. "It was the storm surge that did the most damage," he agreed.

    John spread his hand on his face. "You guys..."

    Tavros cleared his throat. "So um, I guess you'll be staying in town a while, John?"

    "Yeah." John nodded shyly, and Karkat's heart melted into a hopeless puddle. "Look -- you guys -- can I just --" He glanced at Karkat, then back to his friends. "Official announcement. Dave, Tav, this is my boyfriend, Karkat Vantas."

    "Jesus," Karkat grumbled, and hid his face against John's hair.

    "Oh, _that_ embarrasses him," he heard Dave say. "He's fine with being a federal disaster area, but say 'boyfriend' and he blows a gasket."

    "Shoosh," Tavros said fondly. "You were exactly the same way."

    Karkat felt John's cheek curve against his temple as he smiled.

\- end -


End file.
